


Her Message Is Committed

by atouchofyou



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-14
Updated: 2012-05-14
Packaged: 2017-11-05 08:34:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/404411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atouchofyou/pseuds/atouchofyou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Bioware's creative writing contest. </p>
<p>A mage reflects on her childhood the night before she's to be made tranquil. Not everyone is a fighter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Her Message Is Committed

_9:40 Dragon  
Here follows the accounts of mages made Tranquil_

 

When I was very young, I lived in a village so small it had only one well. This well supplied water to every inhabitant of the village. Even so, when it was poisoned, it took some several days for us to discover it. All around me, I watched people fall ill at a maddening pace and then I watched them die one by one. When we finally found the rotted remains of a satchel dredged up in a bucket, it was too late. The leather was rancid, but it bore the remains of an ornate pattern along the edges, and was embossed with what I now recognize as writing. At the time, I was illiterate, along with everyone in the village. When the smith saw it, he spat and proclaimed it Orlesian, likely left behind from the occupation. There were uncorked bottles inside, one still half full of poison. How it had found its way to our well, we had no idea. It was decided that our only choice was to leave our home and journey to the next hamlet down the road.

The night before we left, I crept away from my mother and stood on tiptoes to peer down the depths of the well. It was silent and dark with no trace of the malice that lay below. I stared down, straining to see the water I knew was there. When I returned to my bed, not even the thick coverlet could banish my chills. The next morning, the well was sealed and we began our journey. I watched the smoke rise from the funeral pyre for the dead from my perch atop the only wagon. It was some years before I understood what had occurred; to me, it felt as though all the world had gone wrong.

In the decades since, little seems to have changed. Something has poisoned the heart of the Chantry. All around me, I watch people succumb to fear and it takes little to push them over the edge. The faithful turn from compassionate to righteous. And so, I am to be made Tranquil in the morning. I will never face my Harrowing. I will never know if I am capable of looking a demon in the eye and refusing its offer. There is not cause; I am not unskilled with magic, nor have I ever given the senior enchanters reason to doubt my willpower. And yet I cannot find it in myself to be upset about my fate. I guessed it was coming. The Knight Commander has grown uneasy lately, and who can blame him? Unrest is everywhere, and rebellion has become common. It is too soon to see what it brings other than death, and so he is eager to stave it off. For every mage who passes her Harrowing these days, a half-dozen never get the chance. Some are made Tranquil. The rest simply vanish.

I was not surprised to wake to a Templar shaking my shoulder and telling me I had been summoned. The other apprentices tried not to show the fear in their eyes as they watched me leave. Some turned resolutely to the wall, their backs to me and the reality of our situation here. A small few saw me dressing under the Templar's watch and simply rolled over to fall asleep again. Apprentices pulled from sleep have become all too common these days. I arrived at the First Enchanter's study to find both her and the Knight Lieutenant waiting for me. They explained my fate and I simply nodded. I did have one final choice, the Knight Lieutenant said, not without kindness. If I did not wish to be made Tranquil, I would be allowed a quick and painless death. It is against the Chantry's laws. Both he and the Knight Commander stand to lose their positions or worse should word get out, but even Templars are not without their mercy: many mages would willingly choose death over becoming Tranquil. I thanked him, but said I had resigned myself to my fate weeks ago, when we first had proof that the rumors out of Kirkwall were horrifyingly true. The First Enchanter closed her eyes and turned away from me. She stared out her dark window as the Knight Lieutenant opened the door and more Templars entered the room.

I was escorted to a wing I'd never seen before, and shown to this room. All mages to be made Tranquil spend their last night unsundered here. They walk in the Fade for the last time while sleeping in this bed; they pen their last letter at this desk. Tomorrow, someone will collect the parchment and file it in the archives after the First Enchanter and the Knight Commander have read it. It will remain on the dusty shelves until their positions are filled by someone new and they are tasked with understanding the consequences of handing out this judgment on the mages. Few others will read it—perhaps some Chantry scholar, or a mage digging through the stacks for notes on something mostly forgotten will stumble across it. Perhaps I will read this letter and the ones others have written once I am Tranquil, but I suspect my curiosity at reading others' final letters will vanish with my magic.

At this moment, all I can think of is my childhood village and those who died from the poisoned well. Some of them fought for every breath, prayed and begged for life or forced themselves to vomit in the hopes they would expel the poison and live. They struggled and clung to life, refusing to submit to powers beyond their control. But my brother closed his eyes and died without one word. I was devastated. My mother tried to explain his decision in terms a grieving six-year-old could understand. She let me cry into her shoulder and whispered into my hair, “Not everyone is a fighter. Sometimes courage is knowing when you can't win and facing your fate with dignity.” I didn't understand her then, but now I have heard my fellow mages whisper of pushing back against powers beyond our control. I have lived in fear as I watched all I knew crumble around me once. I have no wish to live in that fear again. I have made my choice; do not judge me harshly for it.

**Author's Note:**

> Title and concept inspired by Emily Dickinson's poem, "This is my letter to the world."
> 
> This is my letter to the world,  
> That never wrote to me,--  
> The simple news that Nature told,  
> With tender majesty.  
> Her message is committed  
> To hands I cannot see;  
> For love of her, sweet countrymen,  
> Judge tenderly of me!


End file.
